


In Between

by karoffelbrei89



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M, Season/Series 11, Season/Series 11 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5331263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karoffelbrei89/pseuds/karoffelbrei89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in between. (Coda fic, covering everything from 11x01 until 11x06)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between

**Author's Note:**

> Little scenes that take place between/after the episodes. Spoilers for everything that happened between 11x01 and 11x06. For the sake of this story Cas has his own room in the bunker instead of using Sam's. 
> 
> I love me some kudos and comments ;)
> 
> Read it on [tumblr](http://nerdylittleshit.tumblr.com/post/134360057057/fandom-supernatural-pairing-deancas-words-4157)

He calls Cas before he even thinks about it. It’s an old instinct by now, as old as calling Bobby or before his dad. Something went wrong and he picks up the phone, making sure the other is okay, asking for help, trying to calm down. Cas’s voice has that effect. It’s on Dean’s third try that he starts wondering if Cas might not want to talk to him; he can’t blame him, not really. It’s on his fifth try that he starts worrying. 

When Cas finally calls back they are in the middle of nowhere, in a hospital surrounded by rabids. It’s not a good time. Dean takes a step back from Sam when he sees Cas’s name on the screen; he is afraid of what Cas might say. He is even more afraid of what he himself might say, if he just begs Cas for forgiveness in front of all people. Or if he just silently welcomes Cas’s anger, the hurt and rage in his voice, because there is no way Dean could redeem himself, not this time. 

Cas doesn’t sound okay, that much Dean knows. He also knows that Cas only concern is the mark; he can tell he is already forgiven when Cas asks him about it. When Cas says goodbye it sounds final. Dean doesn’t like it.

Later, much later, after both Jenna and Amara have been fallen asleep in the car he starts wondering if there is a word for how he feels. The feeling of guilt washing all over him, hating himself so much for what he has done to Cas, when all Cas had to offer was to still care about him, to forgive him without a moment of hesitation. Dean wishes he hadn’t; somehow it made things worse.

\---

There is a moment when Dean is convinced he has lost his mind – after all he wouldn’t even be surprised anymore. He just stares at the figure in front of him, unable to move. Somehow he knows it’s not a hallucination – he beat up Cas in another place of the bunker and the bruises look all wrong (he knows because the image will never leave him) – but it is only when he realizes that Sam sees him as well that he knows Cas is real. 

They drag him up and put him in the nearest chair. Cas starts talking before they can even ask him what has happened; his voice sounds rough, like it takes great strength to focus. He tells them everything – about Rowena’s spell, how he turned to heaven for help, afraid to hurt somebody else. His voice breaks when he speaks about Hanna’s death. For some reasons Dean never liked her, but he knows that Cas cared about her. He wishes there could be anything he could do.

He bustles around, wrapping Cas in blankets, making him soup. Dean knows it won’t cure the spell, that Cas doesn’t even eat, but it’s the only way he can help. Cas eats the soup without questioning. 

It’s Cas who suggests they put him in chains, to prevent another attack. Dean hands the chains silently to Sam, unable to even look at Cas, let alone chaining him up. He doesn’t sleep that night.

\---

They don’t talk much afterwards. Cas is still weak, even after Rowena lifted the spell, so Sam and Dean mostly carry him to the car. Dean can still feel his cold skin under his fingers, sees Cas’s lifeless face in front of him; he grabs the wheel a bit harder every time he thinks about it. Cas falls asleep once they hit the highway. He shouldn’t. Angels don’t sleep.

He wakes up when they are almost there; Dean can already see the silhouette of the bunker in the first light of the day. He can hear Cas rustling in the backseat, his voice still sleep-drugged. 

“Where are we?”

“Home,” Dean says.

\--- 

Over the next days they develop somewhat of a small routine. Cas is still weak and needs time to heal, so he is doing next to nothing. He joins them at dinner, sometimes just watching, but at times he grabs a plate as well, tasting the food Dean prepared for them. He has a preference for everything sweet and spicy, everything that has a rich flavour, so that according to Cas it tastes more like actual food and less like molecules. He still sleeps a lot – he doesn’t need to, but it helps him healing. When he is awake he explores the bunker and its various rooms, though most of the times Dean finds him in the library, with his nose stuck in old obscure books. Sometimes he spends his whole day (and half of the night) with one book, other days he starts reading ten different books, but never finishes more than the first chapter. If there is a system behind his interests Dean hasn’t figured it out yet. They spend their evenings crouched together in Sam’s room, watching television. There is only a short list of shows Metatron hasn’t spoiled for Cas, so they stick to those, even if it means watching the first season of _Game of Thrones_ for the third time in a row (not that Dean complains). 

He can feel Cas’s gaze upon him, the few times when they are alone, when Cas thinks Dean isn’t aware of his staring. It’s the same concentrated expression he always wears, almost too intense, too much to handle, watching Dean’s bruises turn from red to blue to green to yellow. There are a few moments when Cas looks like he is about to say something, when his hand moves, almost tenderly, just to stop in its movement, as if Cas remembered that he is not allowed to help, not this time. 

The truth is Dean welcomes the pain. It is what he deserves, a reminder of what he did (not that he could ever forget). For the first time in a long time it feels like his mind equals his body; the pain on the inside resonates with the pain on the outside. 

“You know, you don’t just punish yourself, you punish him as well,” Sam says one day after Cas left the room after staring a moment too long at him, his expression unreadable. Dean knows his brother is right. It’s selfish, in a bizarre and twisted way. But Dean needs the pain, more than any forgiveness. 

When Sam tells him two days later about a could-be-something-case they leave within an hour.

\---

Cas waits for them when they return. Sam has called him, to tell him they were near, but they arrive still half an hour later then they assumed. Dean wonders if Cas waited all the time, out there in the cold, in front of the bunker.

“What has happened?”

They haven’t even unpacked when Cas comes over to them, his face a mix between anger and worry, as if he’s not sure if he wants to lecture or hug them. He does neither. Instead his gaze wanders from the car to Sam and settles on Dean.

“Turns out ghoulpires are coming in packs. We got separated but we… we’re fine. We’re okay.”

Dean shrugs and offers Cas a what he hopes convincing smile. Cas looks still pretty pissed.

“I should have come with you. I could have helped.”

“You can help us now,” Sam says.

Cas turns around, facing Dean again. He looks better than he did a week ago, but Dean knows he is still not alright. 

“Can I?” Cas asks in a small voice, like he’s afraid of the answer. 

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Dean closes his eyes by instinct, waiting for the shock of grace running through his body. He remembers now why he refused to let Cas heal him, why he couldn’t have gone through with it. It’s not the ice cold feeling of grace, leaving him numb for a moment. It is the way Cas touches him, his fingers on Dean’s jaw, warm and gentle. He knows that if he would open his eyes now Cas would look at him with affection, with care. Maybe even with something more. Dean never opens his eyes. He waits until he hears Cas’s footsteps, knows that it is Sam’s turn now, before he grabs his duffel, heading for the bunker.

He can feel the ghost of Cas’s touch for the rest of the day.

\--- 

He spends most of the time over the next few weeks in the garage, fixing baby. He only leaves the bunker for the necessarily grocery shopping and for the few parts of his car that can’t be repaired but need to be replaced. Sam is doing research on both, the Darkness and Metatron, both fruitless. He is also trying to categorize the Men of Letters library, a mammoth project he does whenever they have a few days off. Cas on the other hand spends his days in his room, binge watching one show after another. There are days when he doesn’t even leave his room at all, not even for dinner.

“I’m worried about him,” Sam says one day. Dean has made some pasta with extra hot sauce, one of Cas favourite. The smell of it fills the whole bunker. Cas doesn’t show up.

“He just needs time.”

Dean knows that Cas isn’t in a good place right now, but somehow he can’t bring himself to tell Cas to stop. He’s been there, spending days, weeks, in his room, shutting out the world, and hoping in return the world might forget about him. He came back eventually; Cas will come back eventually. Cas is hurting in ways that are all too familiar for Dean, but somehow Dean doesn’t find it in him to help Cas. After all he is a part of his friend’s pain; there is nothing he can do.

\---

Cas visits him one day in the garage. Dean doesn’t see him; he is right under the car. But he hears footsteps, and the next moment Cas’s sensible shoes appear in front of him. 

“Sam might have a lead on Metatron.” Cas’s voice echoes through the garage, a low rumble, even more rough than usual, as if he hasn’t talked in days.

“That’s uhm… that’s good, I guess.”

Dean returns from beneath the car, all sweaty and dirty, covered in grease. Cas studies his face for a moment, the way he sometimes does, like Dean is some weird science project he needs to figure out.

“You think he still has my car?”

“Probably.”

“You think you can… you can fix it as well, if necessary?”

Cas’s voice sounds a bit hesitant, like he is not entirely sure if Dean is the right person to ask. Dean remembers the look on Cas’s face when Sam has called his car crappy, the fondness Cas has expressed for it in the past. Cas who had never once questioned Dean’s affection for baby. Cas who knows a thing or two about how a car can become a home.

“Of course, Cas. Everything it needs.” 

“Dinner is ready in ten.” There is a small smile on Cas’s face, before he turns around and leaves the garage.

Dinner, as it turns out, means three frozen pizzas heated in their oven. But it’s Cas who made it, a silent gesture of gratitude for his family. Dinner never tasted better.  
They sit like that for a while, just the three of them, talking and joking around. Sam tells them that his lead on Metatron turned out to be false; it only needed a few calls to clarify that. Cas doesn’t seem to be all too concerned about it. It’s only when Dean suggests that Cas could use his angel mojo to find Metatron, maybe call in a few favours in heaven, that the mood changes. Cas goes stiff, the easy smile on his face gone. He just nods, before he stands up, leaving their kitchen. 

Dean can feel Sam’s gaze upon him. He doesn’t need his little brother’s lecture about it. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. Cas doesn’t leave his room for the next three days.

\---

Dean watches absently how the light reflects on the glass of whiskey in his hand; his head is swimming in thoughts. It is one of those days that seem to be endless, where everything happens at once, and it is all too much to even think about it. Whenever he closes his eyes he sees _her_ , Amara or the Darkness; he is not sure anymore if they are the same thing or something different altogether, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Not if there was nothing he could do about her. She was right, they have a connection, and Dean doesn’t understand the first thing about it. It scares him, deep down to his bones, to know that she has such power about him. He had her right in front of him, the knife in his hand, but there was nothing he could do. He wonders if he could have hurt her anyway; she is a Goddess after all. But he didn’t know it back then. It doesn’t matter. Even if they do find a way to kill her, he is not sure he can pull the trigger. He is not sure he wants anybody else to do it either. The whiskey tastes bitter on his lips.

He has intended to drink the whole bottle, hoping it would help him sleep, it would help him to forget, even if it’s just for a while. Forget about _her_. Forget about the way Cas has looked at him, angry and disappointed, before he left for his own room. Forget about Sam and the terrified expression on his face. But he knows it won’t help. These days his nightmares return no matter how drunk he is. Even getting drunk is harder; years of abuse made his tolerance ridiculous high. He stops after one glass, trying to get some sleep anyway. He drifts off eventually, still clothed, only to wake up covered in sweat. Another nightmare. One quick glance at his phone tells him it is in the middle of the night. He gets up, heading to the bathroom, splashing some water in his face. It’s only on his way back that he hears a muffled sound from Cas’s room. He opens the door in his hazy state without knocking; Cas’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Can’t sleep either?”

“I don’t need to sleep, Dean. You know that.”

“Yeah, but you can… if you want to, right?”

Cas nods and Dean closes the door behind him. Cas hasn’t exactly invented him in, but he doesn’t protest either when Dean awkwardly sits next to him on his bed. He figures they can be sleepless together after all. 

“What are you watching?”

“Star Trek.”

Dean turns his head to the screen in front of him; it is the only source of light in the otherwise dark room, casting a bright pale light on Cas’s features. On the screen Kirk and Spock seem to argue about something; it is the original series then.

“What episode are you on?”

“The City on the Edge of Forever.”

“It’s a good one.”

Dean vaguely remembers watching it as a kid on a crappy motel television; back then it was only black and white. They watch it in silence and the next one after that. Dean can see how Cas found comfort in this these last weeks. He used to watch as much television as he could as a child, anything that was on, he wasn’t particular picky. It was a way to escape, to pretend, to live in somebody’s else world for a while, with the promise that this world wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I know you did your best, Cas.”

Cas turns around; he didn’t expect an apology, but he smiles nevertheless. 

“Thank you, Dean.”

“How did you find him anyway? You never told.”

Cas gestures toward the television.

“His reflection was caught on camera. It was a coincidence actually.”

“So you never really looked for him?”

The words leave his mouth before he thinks about it, and he knows how it sounds. Angry and ungrateful, like he is pissed at Cas, like Cas doesn’t deserve a goddamn break. And maybe he is angry: with himself, with Cas, with the world. He sighs.

“That’s not… I didn’t mean…”

“You’re right, Dean.”

Cas sits up, his attention now full on Dean. 

“I said I wanted to help, but the truth is I couldn’t. The prospect of leaving the bunker… it scared me.”

“Why?”

“I was afraid to hurt anybody else again. I was afraid… to get hurt in return.”

He doesn’t look at Dean when he says the last words, but he doesn’t need to. Dean gets it. There is a difference between forgiving and forgetting; Dean knows this better than anyone else. It was foolish of him to think things might be like they used to be.

“I’m sorry, Cas.”

“It’s not your fault.”

It’s not Cas’s fault either. Dean stares absently into the room; he focus on anything but Cas. He closes his eyes, whishing, not for the first time, that Cas never met him, never had to suffer, wondering how better off he would be without him. And yet he wants to reach out, draw Cas in, do anything to make him feel better. It is a selfish dream. 

“I should leave.”

“Don’t.”

Cas takes his hand, fast enough for Dean to know he did it without even thinking about it. 

“I want you to stay. I need you to stay. We need to work things out, you and I.”

“Right now?”

Cas shakes his head. He looks tired, as tired as an angel could be. 

“No. Tomorrow. You should rest now.”

His hand gingerly touches Dean’s forehead; a moment later he is asleep.

\---

_He is surrounded by black smoke again, thick and closing in on him, but something is different this time. He looks in front of him, expecting to see her, when it is Cas instead. Cas, who is lying on the ground, his face nothing more than a bloody pulp. He doesn’t need to check for a pulse; somehow he knows that he is dead, that Dean finished his job this time. He still kneels down, cradling Cas’s face in his hands. A voice at the back of his mind, a nasty cruel voice, tells him he did the right thing. That Cas betrayed him. He didn’t keep his promise after all ; he is not going to stay around for forever._

_“You have to choose, Dean. You made the right choice.”_

_He doesn’t turn around to look at her. He can’t bring himself to turn away from the lifeless body of his best friend in his arms._

_“Is this how it is going to be?”_

_He can feel her; she is closer now, resting a hand on Dean’s left shoulder, right where Cas’s handprint used to be._

_“I’m not good at sharing; you should know that, Dean. I know how you feel about him. I can’t have you, not entirely, as long as he is around. Not when a part of you is still with him.”_

_“You want me to choose?” His voice sounds broken. “All right then: I choose him. Even in death, I choose him. I always choose him.”_

_He sees her vanishing into the black smoke._

A moment later he wakes up, his heart racing. 

\---

He needs a few seconds to adjust, to remember where he is. Not his room, but Cas’s. The television is still on, but mute. Cas must have done it to help Dean get some sleep. Cas himself is a shapeless bundle in the dark, lying close to him, but not close enough. He is not asleep, not really.

“Dean?”

“Go back to sleep, Cas.”

Cas sits up, the wool blanket falling from his shoulder. In the dark room his white shirt almost glows in front of the television screen. He still wears it, only got rid of his jacket and his tie; Dean guess that it is Cas’s version of casual clothes. He turns around, facing Dean, invading his personal space. His pupils are dilated; up close his eyes almost look black. 

“You had a nightmare.”

It’s not a question. 

“I had worse. Really Cas, it’s nothing.”

If anything Cas only moves closer. It’s impossible not to look at him. Dean remembers the way Cas has looked in his dream, all bloody and pale. He closes his eyes.

“I thought I had lost you.” 

It’s nothing more than a whisper in the dark, only there for Cas to hear.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean wonders how much of his dream was true. If angels can visit dreams than what about her? He remembers. He remembers and it feels all too real. He can feel Cas’s hand on his face, his thumb tenderly stroking his cheek. _I choose you_ , he thinks. _I choose you._

“Dean… “

He forces himself to open his eyes. Cas is way too close; they have always been like this, far too close, entangled in each other, impossible to separate. Dean never thought he would find someone like this: someone who looks inside of him and doesn’t turn back. 

He moves closer, enough for their foreheads to touch. He feels like he waited years for this to happen; he is not sure about Cas, not completely, the reason he never tried before, afraid to ruin everything. He doesn’t know why he is doing it now; maybe it was just a dream, maybe it was more. But it is time for him to make his choice.

He leans in, kissing Cas for the first time. There is a strange sense of familiarity about it; if Dean had to choose words he would say it feels like coming home. There is no urgency in it, but no hesitation either. Everything falls right into place. 

Cas breaks away; they struggle for a moment before they find the right position for both of them, with Cas ending up sitting in Dean’s lap. They stay like this, kissing slowly and with patience, trying to touch the other as much as they can. By the time Cas reaches Dean’s pants Dean is already half-hard. Cas’s hands are warm and soft, his movements steady. Dean needs a moment before he can return the favour, struggling to open Cas’s zipper in the dark. He feels Cas rather than seeing him. He concentrates on the touch, the smell of him, all the little noises Cas makes, whispering Dean’s name in the dark. They almost come in unison, holding each other, their hearts beating the same wild rhythm. 

They end up with Cas lying on Dean, Dean’s hands drawing lazy patterns on Cas’s back. 

“I lied earlier. About her, about Amara. She didn’t overpower me, at least not at first. She got away because I let her. I just couldn’t kill her… or harm her in any way. I don’t know why. She says we have a connection, that we are bound. I don’t know about that. All I know is that I had her, right in front of me, and could do nothing. The truth is I don’t know if I can kill her.”

Cas watches him, his face almost entirely covered in shadows. Dean doesn’t need to see him to know that he is worried.

“This isn’t on you alone, Dean. We will find a way to deal with this. We always have.”

“I’m scared, Cas.”

It’s nothing he could have admitted in front of Sam. It’s even hard to admit it to himself. But he wants Cas to know. He wants him to know everything.

Cas sits up again; in the dark his face is nothing more than a silhouette. But Dean can feel him, first his fingers, than his lips.

“Don’t be. I’ll be there.”

\---

They wake up the next morning. Cas has turned off the television, so it’s completely dark in the room. Dean turns around to switch on the bedside lamp. It is still early; even Sam isn’t up yet, the bunker entirely covered in silence. 

“How did you sleep?”

Cas whispers, as if he is afraid to disturb the peacefulness. 

“Good. I think I could get used to your bed.”

He offers Cas a small smile. 

“I like this room. I never had something like this, a place only for myself.”

“It’s always been yours, you know,” Dean says, sitting up. “Back when… when you told me you had lost your grace, I made this your room. Even after I had to send you away, it was yours. No one except you ever slept in here. It’s been yours all along.”

 _Just like me_ , he thinks. 

“It’s the room right next to yours.”

Cas can’t hide his smile.

“I guess I like having you close.”


End file.
